Эд Гринвуд - Stormlight

The door swung open. Storm Silverhand took a step into the room, earrings glittering above her gown. Out of the corner of his eye, Broglan saw Hundarr look at her with new respect. She swung the door shut behind herself.

“Come no closer,” Broglan said coldly. Storm turned, one eyebrow raised—to face four ready wands. “We would know why you are here.”

Storm squarely met his gaze. “It is imperative that we work more closely together, Sir Broglan. None of us can afford more deaths. You—all of you—must agree to my placing silent watch spells over you, as Lord Rowanmantle has done.”

“Rowanmantle’s a fool for a pretty face,” Broglan snapped, “and such blandishments fail here. I’ve given you my refusal already; be aware that each time you force me to repeat it will bring a sharper and more hostile reception. Things would be much simpler if you were not here, Lady Harper.”

“I agree,” Storm told him, every inch a court lady as she took two smooth steps nearer. “They’d be much simpler indeed: you’d all be dead by now.” She shook her head. “You may soon be anyway if you refuse even this simple measure of protection.”

“The answer remains no, lady,” Broglan said coldly, “and the door remains there, awaiting you. Pray, begone, or you’ll force me to banish you from Cormyr in the name of the king! What’s going on in this keep now is far too important for us to listen to silly and dangerous requests to submit to your spellcasting!”

“Oh,” Storm said quietly, “were you under the misapprehension that I was requesting anything, sir? Allow me to correct that: I am not now asking you to submit to my spells. I am commanding you to do so.”

Broglan stiffened. “You’re in Cormyr now, Harper,” he snarled. “You have no authority to command anything! You’ve already shown us that you can threaten … war wizards of Cormyr ignore threats!”

“Pardon me, sirrah,” Storm told him smoothly, “but I do have that authority. I speak to you now not as a Harper bard, but as Marchioness Immerdusk—of Cormyr.”

Broglan frowned. “What nonsense is this?” Beside him, Insprin opened his mouth to say something, but the leader of the war wizards quelled him with a dark glance.

“That is the title given me by the king of Cormyr,” Storm said calmly. “Is there some problem with your hearing, sir, or comprehension?”

“The Lord Vangerdahast schools us well in what ranks and titles are borne by citizens of the realm,” Broglan said icily. “In particular, when new titles are created—for the suddenly ennobled sometimes let things go to their heads, and create trouble. Lady, desist in this falsehood: all of us here would know if King Azoun had created you a marchioness—a rare rank in any case; why, I believe there are no more than eight marchionesses in all the realm.”

“Azoun did not name me to any noble rank,” Storm told him, gliding forward. Four wands lifted as one, and she looked coolly along them and came to a smooth halt. “My title was conferred upon me by King Baerovus Obarskyr.”

“Baerovus?”

“It was some time ago,” Storm said, “but Lord Vangerdahast’s lore-learning should bear me out. I adopted the king’s bastard son, Casplar Hundyl Immerdusk, as my own. I reared him, versed in the principles of law and loyalty. By ennobling me, Baerovus was able to give his unacknowledged son a senior rank at court. Casplar became the first lord chancellor of Cormyr, scribe of the laws—and so the noble house of Immerdusk was founded.”

Broglan looked like a man bewildered. He frowned, shook his head as if to clear it, gabbled for a moment incoherently, and then said grimly, “Whether this be true or not, the wizards of war have never taken orders from the nobility of the realm, lady!”

“Oh?” Storm said. “They certainly did in my day.”

Broglan gave her a wintry smile and a little shrug, and said lightly, triumph in his tone, “Times change, madam. Sad, isn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve a few things to do that are slightly more urgent than standing about arguing matters of rank—the door, as I recall, still lies in that direction.” He drew himself up and smiled at her.

Storm matched his grim smile and said, “As Vangerdahast is wont to say: not quite so fast, Sir Broglan.” She saw Insprin and Hundarr both hide grins at that, as she put her hand very slowly into her bodice and drew forth something small. A ring.

She held it up. “Azoun did give me this,” she said, “to use if I ever needed to command any lord, officer, official, or common citizen of Cormyr, in his name. It compels you to obey me as if I were the king.”

Four pairs of eyes bulged in astonishment. Vangerdahast had seen to their training properly; they all recognized it, though there could scarcely be more than a dozen such items in all Faerûn.

What impressed the wizards so much as it gleamed on her palm was a Purple Dragon ring. She held it up, turning it so they could all see what adorned the gold band: a tiny sculpted dragon of electrum, heat-tinted to a delicate mauve and surrounded by a disk of silver. “Will you test its veracity, Sir Broglan?” she asked, almost reverently.

Broglan’s face held awe as he stretched forth his hand to take it. The three other wizards drew in close to watch as he held the ring in his open palm, touched it with one finger, and said hoarsely, “Azoun rules.”

Immediately, a clear and cultured voice—King Azoun’s—arose from the ring. “As the war wizards guard,” it responded.

Eyes widened among the watching wizards. They looked at Storm with more respect than she had ever seen in their eyes before. She crooked two fingers in a beckoning motion, and Broglan reluctantly tipped the ring back into her hand. “Are you prepared to obey me, Broglan?” she asked him quietly. “Or will you be forsworn before your king?”

“I—I … what precisely do you want? I have very specific instructions on some points,” Broglan said, face twisting anxiously. “I—I can’t just …”

With a firm hand Storm pushed aside the wand that was leveled at her chest, stepped up to him, and said, “You have a speaking-stone hidden away hereabouts. Use it.”

Broglan blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Confer with Lord Vangerdahast,” she said briskly. “Get his permission to work with me, if you feel you need it. Or talk to His Majesty, if you’d prefer—but in the meantime, it can hardly hurt to show me Athlan’s notes, which I know you’ve hidden here somewhere.…”

Storm had turned to survey the faces of the watching mages as she spoke her last sentence—and was rewarded by Hundarr Wolfwinter, who glanced involuntarily at a certain tome on the bookshelves behind Broglan’s chair.

Without another word, she stepped around the senior war wizard, the skirts of her gown hissing past. She snatched down the book Hundarr had looked at. It was the work of but a moment to thumb its latch, flip open the cover, and discover that it was a hiding-tome rather than a real volume. Curled up in its central well were a few pages of ink-scrawled parchment.

Storm flicked the topmost page open between her thumb and finger, seeing only the words, “Beware the Walker of the Worlds,” before book, parchment, and all were roughly snatched away from her.

Broglan stared at her, eyes blazing. “Lady Silverhand! Kindly wait until I have spoken with Lord Vangerdahast, if you don’t mind!”

She sighed theatrically and said, “Well, get on with it, then.”

Behind them, one of the younger war wizards snorted in amusement. When Broglan swung around to see which of them it was, Storm pounced on the black velvet bundle that now lay on his table.